A One-Sided Conversation
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Booth pays a visit to Pops for Father's Day.


A One-Sided Conversation

Hey, Pops, its' me, Booth. Hope you're having a nice day up there! Even though it's been quite a few Father's Days since you went to be with Grams, I still really miss you like it was yesterday. The cemetery looks nice, all spiffed up for summer. Hope Grams likes the roses I brought. I put a geranium on top of Dad, and left some hyacinths at Mom's headstone. A lot has happened since I visited you a couple months ago.

Christine's daughter Ruth graduated from college over Mother's Day weekend, during one hellacious downpour which overwhelmed the storm sewer system of Norman, Oklahoma. She's found her first job that she wants to pursue for a few years before going to grad school, so we spent the next weekend packing up all her stuff and moving it to the city where she's sharing an apartment with Angela and Hodgins great niece Alice.

Bones and I weren't allowed to any of the heavy lifting; we packed up her kitchen stuff. It's one job we were able to do mostly while sitting down. My knees give me as much trouble as yours used to, and Bones' hip has been acting up recently. If there's anyone who knows how to properly wrap breakable items, it's Bones. She's successfully shipped her artifacts several times without any Aztec fertility statues getting broken. Me, I just placed the newspaper or bubble-wrapped items into the packing cartons as she directed, and labelled the boxes when they were full. Her hands shake a bit when she tries to write, which bugs her no end, but mine are still pretty steady.

Fortunately for me, none of the dishes broke in transit, or I'd have had three generations of Booth women irked at me. You know how it is helping a woman with a task; you're better off keeping your mouth shut, your opinions to yourself, and just going with the flow, doing what they say. Grams was like that when you'd take her jars of preserves down to the basement every fall. God, I miss her apple butter and strawberry jam!

Hank is mentoring Ph.D. candidates at the Jeffersonian like Bones used to. The university his kiddo Max is attending wouldn't let him complete his doctoral fellowship under a relative, so he's off at Oxford doing a year's work with Ian Wexler's nephew Rodney. Lemme tell you, Bones checked out that fellow's credentials thoroughly before she gave Max her blessing to go study in England.

She used to give me such grief for running FBI background checks on her boyfriends, but she's done the same investigations on professors our grand-kids have studied with! Kinda hypocritical of her, but I don't dare point that out. She has the same motivation I did; keeping someone you love safe from bad situations and influences.

Oh, Pops, Parker released his newest album last month. It diverges widely from the music he played with Billy Gibbons. He found some old records in that mahogany cabinet end table. Remember the one you took when you sold the house and moved to Willow River Retirement Center? He spent several months trying to figure out how to play the old 33 LP's and finally prevailed upon Bones to request borrowing a record player from the Jeffersonian's History of Phonography exhibit after Hodgins suggested he could use it to hear what was on those old 'platters'. Well, you know what? Parker found "Whispering Hope" on one, and "My Happiness" on another, "I'll Be Seeing You", "Begin the Beguine" and a bunch of others. I remember you dancing Grams around the living room and her humming those tunes as she cooked breakfast. I told Parker they were among Grams' favorite songs.

He arranged them for vocals and guitar, and she would just love the results. The way Parker sings those old songs is much different from Bing Crosby or the other artists of the 1940's, but they adapt surprisingly well to such a simple performance style. It may not make him huge royalties, but he did it as a tribute to you. And her. 'Course, he didn't have a chance to know Grams, but he said you two started it all; our family. Didn't even tell me and Bones he was doing it. I blubbered like an old fool the first time I heard it. Come to think of it, I guess I am an old fool; can you believe I'm almost 84?

Well, Pops, I'll be back out here to put a flag on your grave, come July 4th, with some peanut butter jelly sandwiches and cokes like your old Army buddy Jimmy liked. Bones is expecting me home soon for our weekly grocery shopping. She doesn't see as well as she'd like any more, so I go along and read all those organic labels to her, so she can select boringly healthy stuff to feed me. I'm lucky I still see well, and can drive myself around! Once a month or so, I do a little shopping trip of my own, to restock the little fridge and cabinet in my man cave with my favorite snacks Bones doesn't really approve of. I don't overdo indulging myself, but a guy's gotta live a little now and then, right? Like you used to sneak those Ding Dong cupcakes we loved. I suspect Grams was aware of it, and just looked the other way! Bones isn't quite so forgiving. If she had her way, I'd turn into a damned rabbit!

The kids want us to move to a retirement home, but neither of us is ready to give up the Mighty Hut just yet. I guess we'll have to do so before too long, just like you did; but I'll sure miss all the memories we've made in that house. We will have lived there 48 years next month. Been married almost that long! You were right, Pops, all I had to do was listen to my heart. I certainly got my 30 or 40 or 50 years with Bones, didn't I?

We're certainly both lucky guys, landing those two fine women to share our lives. You gave me a lot of great advice, Pops, and you saved me in so many ways. If I reminisce much more, I'll get so teary I can't drive home, so I'll say 'So long' for this time. I love you.


End file.
